Dethwoodwind
by NFMaredzenian
Summary: Dethklok is approached by a manager proposing a collaboration with a supposedly celebrated metal flutist.
1. Louis Althusser

Author's Note: Some of you might remember me for my Devil May Cry fanfic, but university got busy over the year, and at one time I lost all my old files, so I almost had to start _Do My Calculations_ all from scratch again. But while I try to continue that from where I left it last, here's a Dethklok fic.  
Dethklok is not mine; this fanfiction is a form of textual poaching.  
The nerdism does not end here.  
I don't own Sunway either. In the Deth-universe, I'd just like to think of it as a multi-billion-dollar corporation that can afford building a futuristic sky garden.

* * *

**Dethwoodwind – Chapter One: Louis Althusser**

The two managers and their respective musicians sat on opposite sides of the table, on their semi-circular couches. Here is the highest floor of Sunway Sky Garden; being the café floor, the food tasted quite different as well.

The balding Maurice Glendale took a good look at the window-wall to his left. Such a magnificent view of the city and towns below made him feel powerful. He returned his gaze to Dethklok's manager. Serious Charles F. Offdensen, always wanting to get to the point and not stop to smell the roses.

"Have you had any thoughts on our agenda?" Maurice asked.  
"Wait. What?" Skwisgaar replied with a question, startled.  
"Didn't I tell you guys what this meeting is for?" Charles questioned the guitarist.  
"I don't thinks so. I remembers trying to make a tub-sized beer-flavored jelly, though," Toki answered, breaking the chain of questions.  
"Yeah, that was a good one," Pickles agreed with a chuckle.

"Anyway – I'd like to introduce you five to a prospective collaborating artist."  
'This isn't gonna end well,' Murderface thought.  
"What's his name?" Nathan soon asked.

"Louis Althusser," he spoke in an accent.

He can see how they stare at him with skepticism. Beneath his personal metal look – the shoulder-length black hair with red highlights, the black T-shirt with silver prints of guns and knives, the three-quarter camo pants – the dark pupils in his narrow eyes and the tan of his skin resembled no part of his name.

"Are you even French?"

Maurice laughed politely to ease the tension. "Of course he's not! His name is Halvard Leong, and he is from around here."

Skwisgaar scoffed. "How'd you thinks that this local wonderboy can co-agulates with us?"  
"Halvard is farther from the local scene than you can imagine, Mr. Skwigelf. Just last week he has finished his tours in Africa, East Europe, Russia and South America. But there's no place like home, is there, Hal?" Maurice spoke like a conscientious parent.  
"I stuck around for the cheap food," the Asian man spoke in a low voice.

"Those places _are_ uncommon markets for heavy metal, the genre which I understand you play," Offdensen said to him.  
"Bullshit," Murderface spoke out. "There's no shuch thing as a one-man metal band."  
"Got that right." Halvard set on the café table a black case no larger than his arm. "The local bands play the backing for me while I play this," he said, opening it.

'Crap. Look at all those buttons,' Pickles thought.

It was a standard student-flute, but to Toki it seemed like a shiny guiding scepter.  
"It's pretty." He looked at Halvard. "Can I touch it?"  
"You play the flute?" Nathan tried to piece it together, but Murderface is faster, and interprets it in his own way.  
"A flute? Holy motherf–ing shit!" He seemed torn between outrage and ridicule. "Can you get any gayer than that? The flute's a _girl's_ instrument! A _girl_!"

Some heads were turned their way, but most of the Sky Garden patrons returned to the mundane things they were doing.

Unfazed, Halvard began assembling the three parts of his instrument.

"Sirs, you are about to witness," Maurice told the rest, "why they said the flute is a heavy metal instrument."

* * *

I hope I did well for an introductory chapter. I needed the writing practice.  
Althusser is one of the theorists whose concepts I had to explore in relation to text, history and the relation of individuals to government. In my current Communications assignment.


	2. Seal the Deal

Author's Note: Sorry if you think the first chapter is too short. This one wasn't written in as much hurry.  
Disclaimer: Dethklok is not mine. Halvard Leong is my creation, though, as the character I wanted to be that I can't. Pfeh.  
I am not familiar with Jay Chou or Rain. But neither is my main source of entertainment news, so it seems.

* * *

**Dethwoodwind – Chapter Two: Seal the Deal**

Halvard stood up with his legs slightly apart and put the mouthpiece to his lips, then adjusted his blowing position so the air he blows will move across the hole, not into it. He knows he has to make a good impression, or he will lose the opportunity to ever truly shake the metal world with them. He warmed up with a chromatic scale that sweeps up and down.

Maurice smiled in anticipation.

He began playing _Master of Puppets_ up until the riffs containing the first verse.  
When he lowered the flute, the reaction was mixed: Toki was cheering, Pickles said it was better than he expected, Nathan remarked that it sounded metal – for a high-pitched classical instrument – and Skwisgaar maintained his 'not impressed' mask.

"So what? I've seen a _chick_ do the solo and she's ten times better than you!" Murderface said.  
"Ja," Skwisgaar agreed and looked at the guitarist he sees as inferior, "Toki's watched the video and he's still amazed when he hears metal on unmetal instruments. And you," he turned to Halvard, "it's dildos like you who destroy reals metal."

"What _kind_ of metal, specifically? Can you tell me?" he argued, but Maurice – still smiling – held up a hand to signal the flutist to calm down.  
"Despite his somewhat delinquent background, Halvard is actually quite academic. I do hope you won't mistake his sharp observations for aggression."  
Halvard returned to his slouched sitting position.

A man in a sharp ensemble of a white shirt, black vest and dull gray trousers stopped at their table to take their order.  
"What took you so long?" Nathan demanded.  
"We're sorry for the inconvenience, but the waitresses on duty seem uncomfortable with this table," he replied.

Offdensen looked around the Sky Garden café. A number of lone waitresses looked afraid to have anything to do with burly men dressed in black. A number of dyed heads have put themselves together, looking all jittery whenever he can catch them glancing at someone from the table. It might be Dethklok, it might be Leong.

"… and what would you have, sir?" the waiter asked.  
"Yeah, Charles, we've all ordered," Nathan added.  
"Of course. Um…" he decided to skip the food pages of the menu. "I'll just have tea – Swedish berry, warm."  
"Thank you, sir."

"I could'a sworn Nate'n ordered the same thing," Pickles exclaimed.  
"No, I ordered coffee."  
"I ordered what lawyers-man ordered," Toki corrected.  
"I orders ice tea," Skwisgaar added.  
"And I ordered vanilla. Hot, _pure frickin' vanilla_," Murderface topped it off.  
Nathan then said: "Hate to tell you this, but they must've mixed at least some milk in the warm water."

Offdensen cleared his throat and turned to Maurice, watching peripherally the way Halvard cleans his flute before dissembling and packing it.  
"So – do fans get really nervous around Mr. Leong?"

Maurice chuckled. Offdensen wondered if the man ever got muscle cramps in his cheeks.  
"Well, they do! Y'know you always hear girls screaming for the likes of Jay Chou and Rain at their concerts. But Hal, he's got the power." There was a glint in his eyes. "Everyone at his shows will scream only in the appropriate times: when his mouth isn't near the standing mic, and when he puts his flute down."

"_They've got their rules of conduct, and we got ours_," Halvard sang.  
A tray and a number of mugs can be heard crashing to the floor somewhere.

"I suppose this level of support ensures that you have enough to cover for damage and protection expenses," Offdensen stated.  
"Protection?" Maurice asked.  
"I'm not sure how you do it in Asia, but Dethklok has been the target of numerous attacks over the span of their career."  
"Yeah – why don't I see bodyguards or som'n around you? I mean, you wouldn't risk getting killed, right?"

At first Maurice was unsettled by that remark from the drummer – thus losing that constant smile on his round face – but before he could say anything, Halvard answers: "Any attempt to live will risk certain death. You can't die without living."

While Murderface mumbled something about a "smart-mouthed little bastard", Nathan turned away from the table to record some words into his audio recorder.

"Have you ever had people trying to harm you, though? Or neurotic fans who couldn't draw the line between healthy and unhealthy obsessions?" Offdensen queried.  
"A fair bit of both," Halvard answered.  
The flutist's manager regained his smile. "There are several accounts of such happenings, but the journalists all put it eloquently. I can show the news clippings later on," he said.  
"Very well," Offdensen replied. "Note that, for joint onstage appearances with Dethklok, which weren't done very often, you will have to pay for the extra security."  
"Indeed." He seems totally unfazed now.

Over to his right, Offdensen paid little heed to his five boys placing bets on whose cake or drink will come first. Murderface had stated boldly that since they are dining as a group, all their food would come at the same time.  
It turned out that Toki was correct: the food Nathan and Pickles ordered took different times to cook, and their drinks were what arrived all at once.

* * *

Later, after the plates and cups have been cleaned and emptied of their contents, Maurice said: "So, can we settle our papers tonight, or will you need some more time to get to know Halvard? Show him around your grand abode, perhaps?"

The leaner bespectacled man set his cup of tea down. "Dethklok will be making that decision, Mr. Glendale."

"Whoa, wait a second – you don't mean this twitchy-fingered bitch is comin' to Mordhaus for a sleepover, do you?" Murderface demanded.  
"That wasn't exactly it. He could stay at a hotel outside and commute there…"

Whatever idea of showing Halvard around Mordhaus that Maurice had is now run over by the stray conception that the flutist is sleeping over.  
"Why not? We cans show him the studio, the games room, the kitchen, the yard wol-levs, and introduce him to Jean-Pierre! They both speaks French!" Toki said.

As Nathan agrees with Toki, Skwisgaar found himself entertaining the idea of the flutist staying over. Clueless little flutist…  
"Ja, the yard wolves," he echoed the other guitarist, surprising his fellow bandmates in at least two ways.

"Dood, I thought you didn't like the guy," Pickles said to him in an undertone.  
"Maybe, but we cans puts him to the test."

The tall Swedish looked Halvard in the eye. "Do you feels metals enough for Mordhaus?"  
"Assuming that I'm staying there," he responded.

"But –" the drummer began.  
"Pickles, whether you're voting him to stay over or for him not to, he's still coming. Three out of five is a majority," Nathan pointed out.  
"A slim one, I might add, but a majority nonetheless," Offdensen commented, refilling his cup with hot water.

"How come you're not voting with us so that this joker can't sleep over?" Murderface asked.  
"This deal depends on the five of you. I'm merely the middleman," Offdensen raised his hand to get a waiter's attention, "and here comes the bill," he stated to Maurice, showing quite clearly in his eyes that the two will be paying for their own items.

* * *

I see this story mostly through Offy's eyes, if not Hal's.  
On another note, I have not made my own _MoP_ cover video, so Murderface is talking about someone else.


End file.
